MFM Minisode 427

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Let's Chicken. Would you like to go first? Sure.
I got a fucking classic hometown here. Amazing.
This one's called My Dad Ate Brown's Chicken in Palentine, Illinois, the night of January 8th, 1993. He knew four of the victims.
Wow. And this is, of course, the Brown's Chicken Massacre case that I covered in episode 263, which is what I'm talking about, where seven people were murdered.
Okay. Dear beloved MFM gang, for the many years I've listened to your show, I've pondered what could I possibly share while overlooking my most obvious connection to a famous massacre.
It dawned on me while visiting my hometown of Chicago last week, and I passed a Brown's chicken and pasta. Here is my moment of glory.
I'm proud to say that my dad is an immigrant and doctor who worked unbelievably hard to establish his own medical practice in the late 80s in the quiet Northwest suburb of Palentine, Illinois. My dad's practice was located just behind a brown's chicken.
My dad didn't like the brown's chicken because the building blocked the street view of his office, typical mentality of my business savvy father, but he loved fatty, crispy chicken. In time, he became friends with the owners, Richard and Lynn Ellenfelt.
My dad regularly ate at his friend's business, and Friday, January 8th, 1993 was no exception. My dad decided to stay late to catch up on work, but dinner presented a dilemma.
His New Year's resolution was to cut back on greasy food. After his business closed at 7 p.m.
and his staff left, my dad said, fuck it,

and he walked over to Brown's Chicken across the parking lot to buy two pieces of classic

leg and thigh with the, quote, extra greasy cornbread along with equally greasy mashed

potatoes, as he puts it. Sounds amazing.
He chatted with Richard for a bit before returning

to his office with his fried chicken. That night, he worked in his personal office located in the back of the unit.
He ate his dinner, did his work until about 10 p.m., and left from the rear door that opened into the alley behind the office, not knowing what was happening less than 250 feet away from him. The next morning, he found his office surrounded by yellow tape, police, and news station vans.
To this day, my dad is still disturbed from the moment he learned that his friend and his wife, Richard and Lynn, were brutally murdered as he sat working in his office the night prior. My dad doesn't recall hearing anything that night.
My dad also knew the two high school students who were killed, Michael C. Castro and Rico L.
Solis, because he was their doctor and did their annual school physicals. Oh, it's heartbreaking.
I know. The following Monday, he went out and bought his first gun and never felt safe in that office again.
In the months that followed, my dad saw his business plainly in the background of local and national news covering the story. The Brown's chicken that once blocked the view of my dad's office was the source of free advertising on a level that he did not want.
Unfortunately, 25 years later, my dad was the victim of an attempted murder by a family member. Then it says that's another longer story.
I mean, yes, it is. And you should write it.
My dad survived by the skin of his teeth, and I'm so grateful he's still alive to recount this story and many others. I often think about what my life could have been like if he didn't survive, and all the light, love, memories, and stories that would have vanished with him.
I admire your work of bringing life back to the people we have wrongfully lost because the families of the victims deserve it, and they deserve to know others stand with them in their loss. I alone, separate from the other details.
but just like an immigrant that comes to this country becomes a doctor builds a business makes makes friends in his community is part of the community and then this happens to the community unbelievable all right well this episode is airing on saint patrick's Day. Right.
So here's a little left turn email. And this subject line of it is a St.
Patrick's Day prank gone wrong. Now, I'm not sure who people are out there that are pranking people on St.
Patrick's Day, the ones who cannot wait for April Fool's or what? Is that a thing? I don't. Or is it just kind of friends being dicks to each other because they can but i don't know i could see like a little leprechaun being a prankster that makes sense well i think they're just greedy i mean i don't know where why we're trying to fold in other okay let me just read this email okay top of the morning to you lassies uh i'm writing in as a day two listener my friend christina with a k heard you on day one and raved about you.
Of course, I had to check out the podcast and I've been a loyal listener ever since. Now, here's my story of questionable parenting.
For years, I've had a tradition of setting my voicemail message as a leprechaun looking for his gold. I'm so sorry.
What? Wait, what? I forgot about this and this used to be such a big part of everyone's life, is what was your outgoing message going to be? Right. Right? And it was kind of like what you were about, and you definitely wanted people to see you in a certain way.
Yeah. So this person's saying, for years I've had a tradition of setting my voicemail message as a leprechaun looking for his gold on St.
Patrick's Day.

What a fun way to be creative. I think mine is like the robot right now.

Is it?

It's so boring.

Yeah.

Well, I think it's because the trend is out where it's like people don't really call each other as much anymore.

Right.

It used to be a really big deal. Okay.
One particular year, I decided to take it a step

further and play a little prank on my kids who were six and eight at the time. I called my home phone and left a message in my best leprechaun voice.
Oh, now I have to do a leprechaun voice. You have to do it.
Tis known you have me gold and I'll be sneaking in tonight to find your treasures you stole from me. Wow.
Yes, I'm so glad they didn't give this to me. The powers that be did not pick this one and give it to me because I would have ruined that.
And that was perfect.

Thank you kindly. So they say, I thought it was hilarious.
That evening during supper,

I played the message for the kids. My daughter had a friend staying for a sleepover and I really sold it, acting surprised and saying, a leprechaun left us a message? He thinks we have his gold?

To make it even more fun, I suggested we build a leprechaun trap after dinner using sticks and a cardboard box. At first, it all seemed fine.
The kids went along with the idea. But then bedtime came.
My daughter and her friend came into the living room crying. They were absolutely terrified that the leprechaun was coming for them.
The friend was so scared that she called her mother and wanted to go home. Oh, it's so embarrassing as a parent.
When I got on the phone to explain it was just a joke, neither the mother nor my husband found it funny. She has not a friend in the room.
No, divorce. Except that little leprechaun.
To this day, my daughter and son remind me of how i traumatized them insisting it was not a cool thing to do of course i still find it hilarious and i continue to leave my annual leprechaun voicemail message every saint patrick's day wishing you all a happy and mischievous saint patrick's day paula paula just the thought of them like my mom she were a prankster, how bad that would suck. Yeah.
You know? It's like a new level of trauma, I feel like. I had a cousin and he now does it to his daughters, which makes me laugh, but I know that I felt very differently when he was pranking, quote unquote, which is just outright abusing us during the 70s.
But he still does stuff like he goes out,

if he's going out to the car to get something

and then he knows his daughter is coming behind,

he'll hide behind a bush and then just jump out at them.

He does lots of that kind of stuff.

And I know it's because he's like,

I want you to get ready for the world.

Right.

Don't trust anyone, especially not your parents.

Start at home not trusting anyone.

If you step out into a dark driveway in the middle of the country, you better start wondering who's hiding behind a bush. It's on you if you don't.
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This is called laughing when you're not supposed to at a funeral. Hey, gals, just listen to the episode where you talk about laughing so hard when you aren't supposed to.
Our favorite. I had to tell you the story.
My sweet and perfect Mormon grandmother, Joan, died at the age of 93 a couple years ago. Her only living sibling,, died back in 2020.
It was COVID time, so instead of burying her sister, we had her cremated with a plan to let her rest with my grandmother when the time came. In talking with the funeral home when my grandmother died, we asked if we could just put my great aunt's cremains in with her sister.
They were going to bury the grandma. The cremains hadn't been buried yet.
They vehemently said, no, not unless we pay the, quote, paperwork and fees to the tune of over 6K. And that says, pretty sure in today's money, that's got to be at least 9K inflation.
Yeah. We declined just to put them together.
Well, but they're like basically like, oh, no, no, that's a whole separate bunch of charges that we are not collapsing into one charge. Well, there's no two for one.
Right. Here.
At a funeral. The morning of my grandmother's burial, we all gathered.
Plan was to walk across the cemetery together to her gravesite behind the hearse. We all had roses to place on her casket.
My grandmother's favorite animal was birds of prey like owls. So I gave an owl stuffy to my six-year-old niece to drop in her grave with her casket.
She hugged it all the way to the grave and when it was time, she dropped it on top of her casket. It made a loud thud.
I was trying desperately not to laugh and refused to make eye contact with my aunt, sisters, and mother because I knew we'd all die of laughter at this inappropriate time. This is because the night before, de-stuffed the owl, took my great aunt Barbara's cremains and placed them into the stuffed owl and sewed it back up.
Hell yes, you did. Cheers, stay sexy and don't let the funeral homes charges keep you from letting your family rest together.
And should I say her name? I feel like I don't want to out her, but oh well, Megan, she, her. Megan.
Megan signed her name. She's like, you know what? Come for me.
Come for me. She's already down there and buried.
Yeah. That's brilliant.
I know. I love it.
Breaking rules that don't belong. Yeah.
The rules that are rules just so they can charge you fees and get a cut is like, well, then you get now we're all we all get to try to rip each other off. If that's what standing rule is i have rules too yeah the rule is you're trying to get me like get me so then i'm gonna follow your rules and try to get you yeah i'm gonna get you amen okay uh let's see oh this is a classic hometown and it says coming too close to a murderer is the subject line okay hi ladies i've got a classic hometown for you comes from my mom, who has told it over the years, and it gives me chills every single time.

The first few years of my life, my family lived in a small town outside of Albany, New York.

Early one morning, my dad left for work, and my mom decided to take her cup of coffee and her youngest, cute little baby, me, out onto the front porch.

My older brother and sister were sleeping inside.

As she sat rocking me and enjoying the quiet morning, something caught her attention.

She said, little baby me, out onto the front porch. My older brother and sister were sleeping inside.
As she sat rocking me and enjoying the quiet morning, something caught her attention. She

watched as a man she didn't recognize emerged from the house across the street and walked up

the driveway. As he reached the sidewalk, he stopped and noticed that she was watching,

and the two made eye contact. My mom got instant bad vibes.
He just stood for another moment as

my mom busied herself with adjusting me in her lap and generally avoiding looking in his direction. He finally moved down the road.
What my mom didn't realize at the time is that she had just witnessed this man leaving the scene after brutally murdering our neighbor. Holy fuck.
Yeah, here's what happened. The previous evening, a young woman who lived across the street had a small party at her home.
About an hour after all her guests had left, one man returned to rape and kill her. After assaulting her, he dragged her to the cellar where he used a wooden footstool to bludgeon her and slit her throat.
Oh, my God. Thankfully, the man was arrested pretty quickly after her body was discovered.
My mom helped identify him, but has said the whole situation was incredibly scary and traumatic. Of course.
Yeah. After being seen, he could have very easily decided to walk across the street to get rid of the witness.
That's something my mom has thought about many times. Definitely.
Yeah. So there's my hometown story.
Honestly, just another in a long list about men who so easily perpetuate brutality against women. It's sickening.
So remember, stay sexy and drink your coffee inside. Love ya, Cam.
That is chilling. Yeah.
That is... She could have been the only witness to the fact that he was still there.
Like, his alibi is out because of her. And he didn't do anything.
Fucking thank God. That's wild.
Also, it's just that the exponential vulnerability of a mother and her brand new baby. Yeah, early in the morning.
Oh, my God. And the poor one.
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All right. Well, my last one is just completely not like that at all.
Okay. It's called Dope Hometown Festivals.
So here we go. Great.
Hey, y'all. In Minnesota 417, oh, and there's actually a St.
Patrick's Day shout out in this one too. In Minnesota 417, after talking about one town's hot dog day, you requested more weird hometown festivals.
I have two good ones. This one's weird.
I'm from Richmond, Virginia, where every New Year's Day, we host the Cone Parade. Dozens of hungover people meet and parade through part of the city in full body cone costumes that range from rolled up poster board with names of metal bands written on them to full coney works of art and wordplay.
And Alejandro, does this mean like a traffic cone? Or are we talking about like an animal cone that you put on an animal when they get surgery? Can you look it up? I guess traffic cone. My money's on a traffic cone.
That's what I thought too, but here we go. I've attended as both a spectator and a cone and had a blast either way.
There's a live DJ, so there are a few stops for the cones to dance, aka awkwardly bob up and down. A couple notable cones this year were a few Chapel Rowan cones, UFOs abducting cows with the cone as a tractor beam, a group of colored pencils, and a dog in a cone.
And a dog in a cone. I love my weird city.
Georgia, it's literally like cone shape. Like it's not a traffic cone.
Just the shape of a cone. It could be anything and it's just cone shape.
Okay. That's easy.
That works. I now live in Savannah, Georgia.
St. Patrick's Day is the biggest event in Savannah every year, which I didn't know that st patrick is celebrated for

driving the snakes out of ireland so of course a few days before the big event a local group hosts the savannah slithering where people parade through the city dressed as snakes and carrying snake lanterns what my uh this is vince's worst nightmare my husband and i have already started costumes for this year year's slithering how do you end an email i have no clue ssdgm and thank you for all you do laura she they laura you killed that ending incredible job yeah this slithering is hilarious like slithering it's just it's like such the game of telephone of time where clearly when when that first started, it made perfect sense. It was like the lanterns were, you know, whatever.
I'm making up something from the 30s. This is how everybody lit things.
And now it just is like snakes with lanterns. Makes no sense.
I do love these like adult gatherings like this, the Santa Con every year. They have that like ride to work in your underwear day in New York.
I, I just love those little things where you can be a goofy adult. Yes, I think people need it.
Yeah, make me happy. Okay, here's my last one.
The title says the title and then a dash. Don't read this title out.
Oh, no, I'm sorry. It says don't read title if read out.
Got it. Got it.
And we get right into it. Hi, pals.
Long time listener. First time emailer.
You asked for inappropriate laughter stories at a funeral. So here you go.
It's my favorite. I hail from the Emerald Isle, Dublin, Ireland.
The Emerald Isle would just be Ireland, but it's like I hail from the Emerald Isle, Dublin, Ireland. Funerals here are long events of silent, awkward gatherings where no one really knows how to act or what to say to each other and then i would add editorial note in parentheses until they all get drunk right i was like where's the alcohol though yeah it's like that's the first 15 minutes but now talk about when everyone gets three beers aboard anyway a family member of mine sadly passed away it was my first time attending a cremation.
If you've never experienced one, let me explain. It's basically the burial part, but at the end, a curtain appears and slowly covers the coffin and music plays.
It's very symbolic, beautiful, and sad. Well, it usually is, I'm sure.
Except for my family member's cremation, he chose the classic... Oh, no.
Mambo No. 5 by Lou Bega to play him out of this world.
Oh, my God. I can't sing it.
We can't sing it, but... No, but I love him so...
What a hero. Hero.
Yes, you read that correctly. The song about wanting a little bit of Monica, Rita, Sandra, and tina suddenly started to blast out of the old speakers imagine the worst sound call he speakers banging out that intro oh brilliant brilliant i didn't know the family member too well so i burst out laughing immediately expecting everyone to be in on this joke yeah and then in all caps it says nope it wasn't a joke a smiley face as i turned around i caught shocked and alarmed expressions it seems no one expected this song and it was brilliant what started as an extremely sad moment turned into a joyful one and afterwards stories were exchanged about how funny he was and how he would have loved it the moral of the story is stay sexy and pick a funny song for your cremation lots of love yawn she her oh my god like i love i love this person that's so fucking hilarious and amazing it's so good to be like, okay, yeah, I'm gonna die.
It makes

me feel like they maybe were slightly

on the younger side

to know that song and then to know

how funny it would be.

Did you see recently the thing going around that was

like a grandma died and she

had these cards made up to pass

out at her funeral that had Ouija boards

on it and said, keep in touch.

Yes. Brilliant.
So good. If you know your funeral is coming, do something funny at it.
Yeah. Pay it forward.
You're not going to be here anymore. Think of others for once.
And then have them write in their story to My Favorite Murder, please. All right.
Well, hey, happy St. Patrick's Day.
Please safe and sane this St. Patrick's Day.
We don't want to see you drink nine beers like you did last year. Come on.
No green barf this year, please. Come on.
Come on. Stay sexy.
And don't get murdered. Goodbye.
Elvis, do you want a cookie? This has been an Exactly Right production. Our senior producer is Alejandra Keck.
Our editor is Aristotle Acevedo. This episode was mixed by Liana Squalachi.
Email your hometowns to myfavoritemurder at gmail.com. And follow the show on Instagram and Facebook at My Favorite Murder.
Goodbye. Grandpa's here.
Hank's always helping out. Grandpa style.
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